


Underground

by Vgwd



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-05
Updated: 2013-10-05
Packaged: 2017-12-28 12:39:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/992105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vgwd/pseuds/Vgwd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What Hannibal keeps in his basement</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hannibal

Hannibal is bemused. He has had many guests in his dungeon and not one of them has ever slept so deeply or so easily as it's latest inhabitant. She is different to his other guests. She seems resigned to her fate and has been since she woke up in the windowless, soundproofed secret cell in his basement. She approaches her predicament with a strange calm irreverence. He suspected at first that she was on drugs but there have been no withdrawal symptoms, no desperate cravings. He's also ruled out the more obvious mental conditions. She simply has accepted that she is going to die. Alone, in his dungeon. But not yet. Because she intrigues Hannibal. He enjoys talking to her, when he takes her her meals, he stays in the room merely to interrogate her. He visits her far more often than he should. He visits her when she sleeps just to watch her breathe. She has, on occasion, managed to make him smile. She is more than just a convenient, walking collection of ingredients. And that is keeping her alive. For now. She's not like his usual victims. She wasn't rude or vulgar, she was simply alone and lonely every time he saw her in the farmer's market. She goes there every saturday and he's seen her there most weeks. She blazes out at him with her pale pale skin and black black hair.   
When he takes her dinner to her she is lying on the bed watching a DVD. He has made the room as comfortable as possible. Watching his victims is part of the of the experience. A delicious prelude to the main performance. He enjoys watching his guests descend into despair but she has not. She seems impervious. She's lying on her stomach, swinging her legs back and forth, they are crossed at her ankles and he sets the tray down on the bedside table and catches her ankles. She turns to him and looks at the food he has supplied. It's smoked salmon and scrambled eggs. She is conservative with her meal choices and he endeavours to accomodate her as far as he can.   
"And how are you today?" he sounds like a hospital doctor talking to a rich patient.   
"Just catching up on 'Homeland'. I'd hate to die without knowing what happens to Brodie." her eyes are dark as blackberries and she swings herself round to face him.   
"You think you're going to die?"  
She actually smiles at him. "We both know I'm not going to leave this room alive." Hannibal has seen many smiles in this room. His guests often try to ingratiate themselves with him, they flatter him, smile, cajole but none of it works. He is immune. Her smile is different. She seems to be genuinely amused by her situation. She's eating her dinner. He's given her childrens cutlery, rounded plastic that can do no damage to him. But she's eating the salmon with her fingers, which both repels and attracts him.   
"Would you like a newspaper?" he surprises himself with the question.   
"No thank you" she has good manners which pleases him.   
"You're not interested in the outside world? What is being said about you?"  
She shrugs. "No one is looking for me. No one is coming to rescue me."  
Hannibal knows this is true. She has no family. She was leaving one state to move to another, it will be months before anyone notices she is not there.   
"Do you miss your husband?"   
"Yeah, but my aim is getting better" she uses humour as a coping mechanism, an obvious observation but a true one. Her husband is dead. She is young for a widow. Out in the real world, she would be married again in a few years. She's waiting for him to smile at her joke. "Nothing? Really? Wow, tough crowd." She is obviously used to being the funny one in any situation. She finishes her eggs and he stands up, picking up the tray.   
"It doesn't affect you that you're alone?"  
She shrugs again, "Don't sweat the small stuff".   
He finds himself frowning as he lets himself out and relocks the door.  
He can't concentrate during the ballet. It's a disappointing version and his company is dull so he leaves abruptly during the interval claiming a work emergency and returns home. When he lets himself into the cell, she is changing the disc in the DVD player.   
"Nice suit. Have you been to a party?"  
"The ballet, 'Coppelia'"  
"Gesundheit. Still nothing? You are hard work." she shakes her head. "I thought you had to wear a tux to the ballet" she turns the tv off and stands up.  
"It is a modern rendering, casual dress is acceptable."  
He's wearing a three piece suit. Immaculately tailored. His shirt and shoes are handmade and his oxblood tie is silk.   
"That's casual is it? Your suit cost more than my car."  
"That, would not be difficult."  
"A joke, I'm impressed." She takes one step towards him. "So, is this it?"  
Hannibal wonders if she is going to try to kiss him. If she'll try to bargain her way out with sex. That inevitably happens when he has guests. Women and men offer themselves to him in the hope that he'll release them. He never accepts the offers and he always kills them. He might make an exception with this visitor. On the sex. He knows he will kill her. Eventually. He leans down to her and kisses her. Which is a disconcerting turn of events. He didn't plan to do it, which unsettles him because he plans meticulously. She seems to be equally as surprised because she doesn't and she inhales sharply. He wonders if she's been kissed since her husband's death. Probably not. She has the sad eyes of someone still in mourning. Hannibal holds her in place even though she's immobile. She's neither moving towards him, nor away from him. He imagines that she is calculating her chances of escape. He knows from their conversations that she is clever with a grasshopper mind that can envision every possible outcome of her actions including how he will hurt her if she tries and fails. His own mind is precise and meticulous and he never imagines failure. He doesn't have to. He has a superior intellect, he's quick witted and on top of that he is physically strong, stealthy, big, He overpowered her easily. She put up a fight, her feet denting her car as she kicked out. And someone had taught her self defence, probably her husband. But he was stronger and she ended up in his basement anyway. Hannibal breaks the kiss before she can feel how much he wants her. He leaves her simply staring at him as he walks away with a muttered "forgive me". He doesn't look back, he simply stares at the door after he has locked and bolted it.   
He can't sleep. he usually has no problems sleeping in his large, dark bedroom two floors above the cell in the cellar. He left the dungeon four hours ago and he has updated his patient records, decided on the menu for his next dinner party, started the guest list and designed the place settings. But he can't concentrate on anything but the appearance of her skin under the flourescent light. She was already pale, brought up in the cold north, but seven weeks underground has given her a translucent 'Ligeia' like pallor. For the first time in years, Hannibal is unsure of his next move. He could have her, if he wanted, he could offer her freedom, he could seduce her. He's sure he could easily talk her into it. Then write it up, heavily disguised of course, as a case of Stockholm Syndrome. Or he could simply force her. He is much taller than her, and demonstrably stronger. He doubts she would put up much of a fight. He'll tie her down anyway. It makes no sense to leave himself open to attack when he is most vulnerable. From his wardrobe he selects two Italian leater belts then reconsiders, he wants to avoid hurting her as much as possible so he selects some silk ties instead. He brings a selection of colours, he doesn't know which ones will look best against her skin.   
He makes his way down to the cellar and lets himself in, carefully locking the door behind him. She's asleep again. The basement is cold so she's curled up in the warm pyjamas he'd provided for her, under the duvet, snug as a beloved child. She sleeps deeply, so deeply that she doesn't wake up when he ties her right wrist to the bedpost. He's selected a blood red tie that contrasts against her skin. She has the right skin tone for red, she should have spent more time wearing red lipstick. If she hadn't been so pale and so obviously alone, he wouldn't have noticed her. Women who wear red lipstick are normally surrounded by people. They radiate confidence. She blinks and opens her eyes lazily and yawns. She only realises what he is doing when she tries to stretch and can't. He grabs her left wrist before she can object and ties it to the other post quickly before she can react. Her reaction is predictable. She starts to struggle and scrambles up the bed away from him.   
"The more you pull, the tighter the restraints will become. You will hurt yourself."  
She stops struggling because whatever else he does, he doesn't lie. She tries to calm herself and eventually breathes out "I don't like being restrained". As if it makes any difference to his intentions.   
He feels an alien sensation in his stomach, a twist of lust that he's unused to.   
"It is a regrettable violation," she flinches, "but it is unavoidable. I cannot allow you to remain unrestrained."  
He can see the realisation of what is about to happen dawn in her eyes.   
"And you're not going to take no for an answer, are you?"  
"Unfortunately not."  
"You're so polite."  
"Manners maketh the man" he says without irony. She hasn't smiled at him. She shifts her feet and he rests his hands on her delicate ankle. "Do I need to tie your feet?" he doesn't want to risk her kicking him. She shakes her head and looks around. The life in her eyes dies, finally, as he carefully removes her pyjama trousers and panties and sets them on the floor before pulling her down the bed hearing a soft "oof" as she lands. Her arms are fully stretched and he lifts her towards the headboard slightly to relieve the pressure on her wrists. She doesn't look at him as he takes off his own handmade pyjamas.   
"Look at me" he commands and she obeys with eyes as empty as his own. When he thrusts into her, she closes them sharply. "Open them" his voice is soft but fierce. She's not crying when she opens her eyes but they are dead. He squeezes her throat as he moves inside her, squeezing tighter every time she tries to shut him out. Hannibal pulls her legs around him as he fucks her - an uncouth word but an apt one. She makes pained, desperate noises even as he growls into her throat, biting her skin but not breaking it. He can smell fear in her sweat and he licks it away savouring the taste on his tongue. He is meticulous in his movements as in everything, a master of the pursuit and delayed gratification. He rushes nothing. He considers bringing her to orgasm but decides against it. It seems ungentlemanly and cruel to force her own body to betray her. And it would add nothing to his pleasure. Instead he allows himself to climax inside her with a sigh.   
Polite as ever, he unbinds her wrists and turns his back to allow her to compose herself. When they have both tidied themselves up he folds the ties and puts them in his pocket. Hannibal unbuttons her pyjama top and puts it with her other clothes. He studies the marks he has left on her skin with interest. She bruises easily.   
"Go into the bathroom please."   
She stands up unsteadily and walks into the other room, it has no door and is completely tiled. Easier to clean. She makes it easier for him by standing in the bathtub.  
"you don't seem perturbed." he observes, taking the fine bladed knife from his pocket.   
"It was pretty obvious how it was going to end. Wake up in a dungeon, you're gonna end up cutting your own foot off. It's a movie" she explains. "About a serial killer"  
"I apologise for the predictable outcome"  
"you could let me go. Bit of a twist"  
"you won't tell anyone."  
"No, I'll tell everyone."  
"Then there is no incentive for me."  
"Worth a try. Will they find my body?"  
"No."  
She sighs and looks around for the last time. "Okay, I'm ready. Light a candle for me."  
The knife is so sharp that she doesn't feel it at first, just the sensation of being punched in the chest. Hannibal holds her as her legs give out and sets her gently down into the bathtub. She blinks rapidly before collapsing. He makes sure that she's dead before he begins his work.


	2. Hannibal's Guest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Staying in hannibal's basement

She wakes up in a cool, lowlit room. It could be a motel room. But she thinks it probably isn't because there is no door on the bathroom. Her head feels fuzzy and she thinks she may have a concussion. She remembers packing the last box in the trunk of her car and walking around to get in and then - and then someone grabbing her. She knows she fought. She remembers kicking a dent in the car door and absently thinking that she doesn't know anyone who can hammer out dents. She hates not being married. Her husband would have done it. Her husband knew how to do things like that. Just like he knew how to teach her to fight back. What he didn't tell her was that sometimes people are stronger than you. That most of the time, men are stronger than women. And she remembers that she scratched out and tried hard to escape but then everything went to black.   
And then she woke up in the motel from hell. She has no idea how long she's been asleep so she checks her legs. She had them waxed the day she packed up and so she feels for stubble. She's not been there for long, they're still silky smooth. She doesn't know if that is a good thing. She prowls the confines of the room quietly and determines that she is underground. She's in a basement made up nicely, like a hotel room but it's cool and there's no natural light. And no way out. There is a heavy wooden door that locks from the inside but it's locked from the outside. She rattles the door and tries shouting but no one hears her so she saves her voice. And after a few hours of nothing, she goes back to sleep because there is nothing else to do.   
She is woken by the lock turning and she sits up. The man is locking the door behind him and she panics because he is carrying a black doctors bag and a small suitcase. He's got scratches on his neck which she thinks she did.  
"I just want to check you for concussion." he has an accent. European and he is handsome in a slavic way. But he has locked her in a cellar which counterbalances his good manners and good looks. She lets him examine her and he pronounces her healthy. He opens the suitcase and takes out some clothes for her. Like the furnishings they are simple and expensively made. She was raised well so she says "Thank you" which seems to gratify him. She learns quickly that he appreciates politeness and good behaviour. He leaves the clothes for her and the next day he brings her toiletries and the day after that he brings a tv and dvd player.   
She spends most of her time asleep because there's little else to do except watch dvds. She doesn't think he is sedating her, he doesn't need to, she is sleepy all of the time. He brings her food twice a day and after a few days, he sits with her when he brings her dinner and talks to her. She likes the conversations, as much as she can like anything down underground. She tries not to think about her predicament because it depresses her. She knows she has to keep herself strong, upbeat because she will try to get out of there if she can, she has to stay clever. And so she makes herself laugh. She tells herself bad jokes and gives him nicknames. Not to his face, of course. Only once does she call him "cheekbones" out loud and she braces herself for his anger but instead he smiles. He asks her about her life and she tells him. She tells him she is entirely alone. An only child, father died young, mother with alzheimers in a pleasant old peoples home. her mother doesn't know who she is, she thinks she's a cleaner or a nurse and chatters to her about her plans to be a model. It was fine when her husband was alive. Her husband was a construction worker, he'd been in the army when she first met him. Another only child, no parents left - they'd made themselves into a little family. They talked over dinner every night. He taught her to defend herself and she'd made him laugh. And then he'd died, suddenly. An undiagnosed heart defect. So she was moving. Away to the other side of the country. To start again. And then she realises that she's told him she's alone. And that is when she realises that she is not leaving the room alive.   
Which makes her strangely calm. She doesn't want to die but she thinks she won't fight it either.   
He visits her more often than he used to. He brings her the food she likes and he's honest with her. When she objects to the blunt childs cutlery, he tells her he doesn't want her to stab him. Sometimes, when he thinks she's asleep he watches her. He starts to look at her differently, she can sense the sea change in him. He's planning something. And she suspects it won't be pleasant.   
He asks her if she misses her husband and he doesn't laugh at her joke. Her husband would have. He always found her funny although now she wonders if maybe she isn't funny, maybe he was just humouring her. It's a thought she pushes away. She wonders if she should offer him something to let her go. He hasn't touched her any more than is strictly necessary so she thinks he's not interested in sleeping with her.   
And then he obviously is. He brings her dinner and a few hours later he's back in a suit that obviously cost more than her car. He tells her that he's been to see "Coppelia" which she knows is a ballet but with his accent she can't resist saying "gesundheit"which doesn't even raise a smile. Then he makes a joke and she thinks she is going to die now so she stands up. And instead of killing her, he kisses her. She hasn't been kissed for a long time and it feels strange to be kissed by someone other than her husband. She doesn't know how to react so she doesn't react at all. She lets him kiss her and she thinks, can I use this to get out? Can I get the key somehow? can I run and will he catch me? She knows he is stronger than her, quicker. This is not the time to make a break for it. When he pulls away from her he actually says "Forgive me" and backs away from her as if she's poisonous. She stares at the door after he locks her in again. So she goes back to sleep.   
And when she wakes, he's close to her. She yawns and blinks and tries to stretch but she can't. She panics when she realises that he's tying her down. She starts to fight, to scramble away from him, to make herself small and unnoticable. It doesn't work and he tells her it'll hurt if she struggles. He sounds so reasonable but his eyes have a frightening, unhealthy glow in them. She tries to reason with him but he tells her flatly that he is going to have her. Ever the gentleman, he is polite and asks if he has to tie her legs. She had considered kicking him but it would only make him angry and what if she manages to hurt him, she's still tied up. She can't get away and she doesn't want to have to pull the skin off her hand to get out like in that Stephen King book. That gave her nightmares for weeks. so she says No, he doesn't have to tie her legs down. She'll behave herself. She doesn't look at him as he takes her pyjama bottoms off. She's embarrassed as he pulls her down the bed towards his groin. He positions her gently which seems like an insult. She tries to close him out but he commands her to look at him and she's scared not to. She closes her eyes when he pushes himself inside her and it hurts but again he tells her to open her eyes. She wants to cry but she won't give him the satisfaction. He hurts her with every long, deep thrust and he squeezes her throat when she tries to shut him out. Her whole body is wracked, he's strong and he's angry and the restraints hurt her wrists. He pulls her body close to his and thrusts deliberately inside her, his body crushing hers he bites her throat and growls as she can't stop making small sounds each time his cock hits the wrong part of her. It's a mockery of every time she's ever made love, he's precise and meticulous and he licks her throat and he looks like he's enjoying tasting her sweat. His fingers dig into her skin, his teeth dig into her flesh and he comes inside her with a satisfied sigh which makes her feel sick. He unties her quickly, rubbing her hands to get the feeling back into them and he turns away so that she can get herself together. She curls up into a ball and thinks, this is it. When he turns back, he has tidied himself up and he removes her pyjama top gently and folds it on top of her other clothes.   
She obeys when he tells her to go into the bathroom even though her whole body hurts. She stands in the bathtub because she thinks that is what he wants. She watches him take a knife from the pocket of his robe.   
"you don't seem perturbed." he says in his ridiculous accent.   
"It was pretty obvious how it was going to end." she replies, her own voice seems normal even though she's sure she can hear herself screaming. "Wake up in a dungeon, you're gonna end up cutting your own foot off." he looks confused so she explains "It's a movie. About a serial killer"  
"I apologise for the predictable outcome" Is he making a joke.  
"you could let me go. Bit of a twist" she speaks as much to hear her own voice as make a suggestion.   
"you won't tell anyone."  
"No, I'll tell everyone." She should be honest, no one wants to die with a lie on their lips.   
She knows he's not going to let her go now, no one will know she has died and there is no one left to remember her except for her killer which, she thinks is obscene.   
She takes one last look around. She tells him that she is ready. And as a final joke, says "Light a candle for me" knowing that he won't.   
She doesn't feel the knife go in, which she supposes is a small mercy but she feels like she's been punched. Her heart flutters and her knees buckle. He holds her and gently sets her down in the tub. The light seems brighter, too bright and it makes her blink and then, mercifully, it fades to black. The last thing she feels is his finger on her pulse.


End file.
